Written in Red
by TickleTheToast
Summary: Threeshot. It's been four years since Courtney and Duncan broke things off for good, and four years since they've spoken. But, on New Year's Eve, Courtney gets an unusual phone call...
1. Too Little

**AN: **A bittersweet little Duncney oneshot, a few years after World Tour and their massive breakup. Both are 21 or so.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Total Drama or Budweiser. Damn you, Canadians! (Kidding, kidding...kinda.)

**Written in Red**

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He called me once, on New Year's Eve, out of the blue. I didn't think he had even kept my number – his had been deleted from my Blackberry years before.

The ring tone for unlisted numbers was a simple crescendo of beeps, though, considering the circumstances, Beethoven's Fifth would have been more appropriate.

"Hello, Courtney here," was my customary answer.

"Hey," was his dull reply.

I hate to admit that I recognized his voice immediately. I'd like to tell you that I wracked my brains or demanded to know who was calling me before I even suspected that it might have been him. But I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

I freaked out.

My heart gave a little spasm, and I sat up ramrod straight in my armchair, hardback novel clunking to the floor. Breathing was quick and strained, and it was a few seconds before I could even force a single word out of my throat.

"_Duncan_?"

My hand grew slick against the side of my phone, and I switched to the other ear impatiently.

On the other end, I could hear the clink of glasses and a loud peal of laughter in the background; he was at a party, wasn't he? Typical Duncan. If I thought he had matured in the few years since Total Drama, I was wrong.

"Yeah...hey..." he said again, sounding half-asleep.

He calls me after four years, on New Year's Eve, and all he has to say is 'hey'?As if just waiting for an excuse to show up, the vivacious fury that I had associated with Duncan's being since our breakup rose to breaking in my chest. That_ asshole._

"Duncan," I growled patiently through gritted teeth "Do you know who you just called?"

"Yeah, yeah!" he said, perking up suddenly like a puppy called in from outside. "Princess!"

_Princess._

I hadn't heard that in years. When I had first met Duncan, it was derogatory, annoying; a thorn in my side that only proved what an immature imbecile he was. Then, suddenly, it became a term of endearment, when he would whisper it into my ear or call me over with a warm smile. I remember wondering, then, if Princess had always been special to him; always endearment. He never called me Princess again after that day in London.

I heard he and Gwen had broken up. I didn't know why – truthfully, I didn't want to, even though it gave me some strange satisfaction – but it was only a few months after World Tour ended.

He must have dated other people. I had. So why call me now?

"Don't call me that. I'm hanging up." _Liar,_ I chided myself. _Your thumb isn't even on the button._

"Nooo, don't hang up. I wanna...na talk to ya, Princess..." he whined, words slurring in his mouth.

_Oh my god._ I was disgusted. Is intoxicating himself the only way he can bring himself to face me? "You're drunk!" I accused. This time, my thumb was poised and ready over 'end call'.

Duncan made a loose flapping sound with his lips, like a horse. "I'd better be, or I'm 'onna be real pissed..." he trailed off, and for a second I thought he fell asleep. "Oh! But yeah, I wanted to talk to the Princess! She there?"

I hated drunks. Not that I hung out with many, mind you, but they never make the right kind of sense. Forgetting, then remembering; yelling, than apologizing; constantly contradicting themselves and unable to walk or talk without stumbling. Disgusting.

So right now, the Princess didn't want to talk to the Delinquent.

But Courtney was still wondering what Duncan had to tell her.

"No, but I can take a message for you," I replied smoothly, impressed by the stroke of luck.

_I really should have hung up._

"Okay, okay..." Here, Duncan's voice faded, like he had leaned away from the phone to talk to someone else. "Hey! I nee' another Bud over here!"

He wasn't at a party; Duncan was at a bar. On New Year's Eve, Duncan got drunk alone at a bar and called me. _Me._

Frankly, I wasn't quite sure how to feel about that. Revolted? Flattered? Angry? All three?

Duncan's voice zoomed back in, close. "You gotta tell her...tell the Princess that I'm sorry. No, wait... Yeah, that's it."

It was definitely the Budweiser talking; I could hear him swigging down the new bottle.

"I...totally ruined the best thing that ever happened to me!" he slurred. A muffled shout came from the background, and I got the impression that Duncan had swung his arm in a flourish and hit someone.

"Whoa, sorry man...Hey, so get this – I friggin' _loved _her, y'know?"

Despite myself, I felt my heart give a few extra thumps, and felt immediately ashamed. This was how I got roped into Duncan's game in the first place. He's all sweet words and nicknames in the beginning, but the second he's asked to commit? Bam! He makes out with your friend on live television.

I was angry, but he was drunk. So I tried to be patient. "Duncan, I don't – the Princess doesn't want to hear it anymore, okay? You don't even know what you're saying-"

"I know exactly what I'm saying!" he shouted, coupled with a dull thunk of his fist on a bar table. And the words were so clear, so sober, that I almost believed him.

"The Princess was the best thing that ever happened to me," he repeated. "When I was with her, y'know, I wanted to be a better person...I _was_ a better person! I was happy! You tell her that Duncan's a stupid jerk who didn't deserve her in the first place, a'ight?"

_You got that right._

"And, and tell her that I'm sorry and I wish I had her back and...um..."

I waited for a few seconds, unmoved, before deciding that he had nothing else to say. "Is that all?" I said dryly. _I really should have hung up. I don't need this right now._

"Y-yeah. That's all I wanted Princess to know..."

"I'm hanging-"

"Wait! Hey...Ssshh..." Static blew into the mic, and I distanced my ear from it warily, only to lean back in when Duncan's voice dropped to a whisper.

"Hey, don't tell the Princess this, but...you promise? You promise not to tell her?"

I sighed, rolling my eyes even though there was no one around to see. Anything to get this idiot off the line. "Yes, Duncan. I promise."

"'Kay, so...don't tell the Princess, but...I was _scared._"

This got my attention. Even if he was drunk, Duncan admitting he was scared was something I never thought I would hear, ever.

He continued, "Cuz she's like this...this Princess! She's gotta have it her way, and she's the boss, and she's gotta have rules and I gotta do this and that and she's gotta have it her way..."

Okay, ridicule was not what I was expecting.

"...and I loved that! If it was for her, I woulda done anythin'! She's...she'd...gotta be mine, y'know? Cuz she's just got this _way, _and I _loved _that!"

_I really, really should've hung up._ I was starting to get uncomfortable. This was Duncan, I reminded myself. The ass that cheated on you and broke up with you on live TV! Wrong, wrong, wrong; lies!

"But it got so...intimi...intimida...s_cary._ Cuz I'd never felt like that before an' it scared me. Cuz what if Princess was _the one_, y'know? An' I swear she is, she gotta be. But I never been in love before, not really, and it wasn't my style and I freaked out! Gwen was like...like a safe bet. She was this friend that I could be attracted to but there wasn't no pressure. Cuz with Princess, everything was pressure, it was all weird and new and I didn't know what I was supposed to do next! Cuz normally I'm like a pro with the ladies, but this was...was totally different. I had to get back on, like, familiar territory, so...yeah...I'z just a big, huge, scaredy butthead..."

Even though he sounded so sincere, so passionate – despite his childish use of words, it had to be the ramblings of a drunken idiot, otherwise... Otherwise it would all be true, and that would be too much to handle.

I was scared; too, didn't he know that? I hated not knowing where to step, fearing that there was a minefield ahead of me. But here was the difference: I _stayed. _I was willing to take that first, terrifying step for _him._ For _him_! But if what he said was true, he hadn't been. He chose what was safe and simple over me. The coward.

My voice shook when I answered. "If you loved her so much, why didn't you stay? Why didn't you stay, you coward? Why didn't you take the chance for her? Wasn't she worth it?" I let my anger rush out, ashamed when tears stung my eyes. _Coward, coward, coward..._

"More than worth it..." In the background of the bar, voices started chorusing in the New Year's countdown. "An' I really, really wish I could do it all over."

"_Ten!...Nine!...Eight!..."_

"Oh, yeah?" My voice was thick.

"_Seven!...Six!...Five!..."_

"Yeah. Think she'd be willing to give me a second chance?"

"_Four!...Three!...Two!..."_

It was the drunken ramblings of an idiot...but can you blame me if it was exactly what I needed to hear from him? Can you blame me that, after all it took for him to break down my defenses and get inside, it would be just as hard for him to get back out? Can you blame me if I let myself believe his words, even for just one night? I didn't build those walls to keep people out. I built them to see who loved me enough to find a way through.

Duncan attacked my foundation until it finally cracked, and he wormed his way inside before I even realized it. Then he left, and I was alone again with this giant, ragged hole in my defenses. Broken. He'd found his way in again, though, and what did he ask? For a second chance. I never gave second chances. If you screw up once, you screw up twice. I didn't want to be hurt again. I didn't want to be broken down completely, and that's what he'd do. My lips were forming the word; 'No'. All I had to do was say it.

"_One! Happy New Year!"_

"...You're going to have to see her in person to find out." I guess I was an idiot, too.

"Yeah, I'd like that. I wanna see you."

That made me wonder if he knew he was talking to me the whole time; if he was really drunk or just acting the part to make it easier on his ego. The only thing I did know; Duncan was telling the truth. The Duncan I once knew would never say all that for a lie. He was the straight man; the one you could count on to be blunt and sincere. I guess I'd forgotten that.

"Hey, Courtney?"

"Yeah?"

"Happy New Year."

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**AN: **The ending is blah. It sounded better in my head that it looked on the screen, but it's all I could think of. Anyway,I figured Duncan would be one of those 'truthful drunks', considering all the sober time he spends trying to hide from it. ;)

Thanks for reading! And...Please Review!


	2. Too Late

**AN: **I got a lot of reviews saying 'please make a second chapter!' and 'so what happened next?' with Written in Red. At first I was thinking, 'No way! I want it to stay a oneshot!' and then I thought, 'Well, maybe...' and it went back and forth like that for a few months until I decided to write this one night. So...here we are. I liked the closure of the last chapter, but I have to admit that a reunion would be too awkwardly hilarious to pass up. (By the way, did you guys like how I named the chapters? Too Little and Too Late? XD Because Courtney contradicts herself.)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Total Drama because the Canadians got there first.

**Written in Red**

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I paced across my living room, chewing angrily on my thumbnail.

I hated this. I _hated _it.

I hated how my stomach was twisted into knots.

I hated how my eyes constantly flicked toward the door.

I hated how it took me an hour to get dressed, and how many outfits I tried on before I finally pushed my wardrobe over and put on sweats.

I hated how I pulled my hair this way and that, trying to get it right before I gave up and mussed it with my fingers.

I hated how I couldn't concentrate on anything except the last thing I wanted to think about.

If my plan worked as I'd hoped, I looked like I'd just rolled out of bed. Like I'd forgotten that he was coming. Like I didn't care.

Because that was me. That was Courtney Alvaro. I was too damn stubborn to try to care.

And I hated it.

Because if I rooted deep in my heart, past the barbed wire and bramble bushes and brick walls, I would be able to see that I actually did care. A lot.

Or did I?

Or was I just nervous on how to handle rejecting him and seeing that crumpling look in his eyes? Did I ever really like him? Or did I just delude myself because I was tired of running? Was I only so upset over the Gwen fiasco because it meant that Duncan didn't like me anymore? Was I so conceited that I got bratty and angry when I wasn't the center of someone's world?

_Augh! Shut up, shut up, shut up! _I stopped, bare feet sinking into the carpet of my duplex, and smacked my head a few times to try and clear the tangled mess inside.

I'd put up so many barricades and guards around my heart to keep people from reading it that I couldn't even read it myself anymore.

Wasn't the whole 'figuring yourself out' phase supposed to happen as a teenager? Hadn't I already gone through this once? But Duncan's call, three days ago, had changed everything.

Because that's what he does. He takes a perfectly normal, calm life and turns it upside down without even trying. Whenever he gets involved, I always second-guess myself. My carefully calculated plans turn to dust. My defenses crumble.

I was perfectly content in my own world, before him – but it was only when he showed me the world outside that I realized how small and cramped my own really was.

Like a bottle of soda – it will stay flat until something shakes it up. Well, I've fizzed over the top now.

Or did that already happen; years ago?

_Ding-dong!_

My heart leaped in my chest before settling down to nearly a thousand beats per minute.

_Hadn't I prepared for this? _I thought. _Wasn't I listening for a car engine or footsteps on the sidewalk? _And then, _I'm surprised Duncan would actually use a doorbell._

I waited almost a full minute – until he rang it again – and then a few more seconds. That's right, I'd forgotten. I just rolled out of bed and am rushing to the door to see who it is.

Finally, I stepped into the square of linoleum flooring that sat in the corner with the door; the chill shocking my toes and making me wish I had put on socks.

Then I opened the door, faking a yawn that might have been overkill. The winter wind that rushed through the door made the linoleum insignificant, and my skin braced it with goosebumps. My head ducked down, one arm wrapping itself around my torso – which meant my observations began at his feet and worked their way up.

It had been four years – I didn't realize how much he could've changed, and it made me re-think how much – or little – I had changed as well.

Of course, he was an adult now – I couldn't have expected him to hang on to the goth/punk look.

He was wearing Tombstone boots and grey cargo pants, both caked with snow in places. The lower hem of a dark blue shirt was visible below a cotton Bedford coat that was that strange rustic color between green and grey. Snow was melting off his shoulders, leaving damp patches that seemed too large for the short time he had been standing outside.

His cheeks, his lips, the tip of his nose, and his ears were all flushed red from the cold. How long exactly had he been out there? Had he been pacing, just as I was? Nervous to see an old flame after so long – and over such unusual circumstances.

Or maybe I was imagining things; creating situations that suit me best.

Most of the piercings were gone – all but the two in his left ear. The Mohawk was no more, as well. His close-cropped black hair was ungelled and dusted with snow, making him look older than he was.

But there were two things that had stayed absolutely the same; the things that assured me that yes, this was Duncan, the one that I knew, the one caught between boy and man.

That scruffy goatee still decorated his chin, and I was suddenly caught up in the memories of the stubble scratching my cheeks when we kissed. It was one of the many things about him that I grew to love.

And, not that I had expected them to change, his pale blue eyes were still there, staring, digging up feelings and thoughts I never knew I had. Frozen-lake eyes that should have been cold, but smoldered with a kindling warmth that I had indulged in again and again.

It didn't take a soul-search to know that I was glad for those things.

As for me; no dramatic changes. My plain brown hair, though highlighted, was just longer – down to the bottom of my shoulder blades – and I normally wore it curled into those sexy, loose waves that Viola the hairdresser calls 'business casual', but other than that I was still tan and freckled and preppy as hell.

Though, right now, my hair was probably tangled and frizzy and so not sexy.

Suddenly, I was way too aware of the tea stain on the knee of my sweatpants that I sort of got out but could still see if I looked close enough. I was also aware of how dumpy my college hoodie made me look, and how it rose up my neck and choked me.

Why, oh why had I dressed like a slob?

Why did I always have to be so damn proud?

Duncan broke the silence first – another thing that had changed. He adored silence; I was the one who couldn't go ten minutes without talking. Is that what annoyed him? Is that why...?

_Stop it. Concentrate on what he's saying and for the love of God, don't stammer or twirl that piece of hair around your finger._

"...that you forgot I was comin," he was saying, a hand reaching up to scratch the back of his head.

That I remembered. He does that when he doesn't have a plan; when I've caught him off guard and he has to struggle for something to say.

And that little familiar understanding, if anything, gave me the strength to respond in a smart and independent and oh-so-Courtney way.

"Oh, right. Was today the third? I've just been so busy lately; I suppose I haven't been keeping track of the days." I responded smoothly, stepping back casually to let him in like a good little hostess.

_Liar. You always know what day it is. And you haven't been working at all – you have vacation until the fifth, and you finished your essay on the ethical irrelevancy of defense attorneys early._

Duncan stepped inside like he was supposed to – though he didn't wipe his feet – and I closed the door behind him.

"Right. S'okay." He murmured. Okay, where was the smart remark? The smirk? The raised brow? This wasn't the Duncan I remembered.

Then I realized: of course it wasn't. Smooth, flirtatious, teasing, Bad Boy Duncan was left behind in the teenage years. So maybe this newer, mellower Duncan would be easier to deal with. Once I could get past how discerning it was, of course.

"Go ahead and sit down. Do you want something to drink?" I was amazed at how calm, how casual and cool my voice was coming out when my insides felt like a wasp nest had been angered within. What also amazed me was at how easy it all was; to separate my mind and my emotions. Yes, I would make a great politician.

Obedient guest, Duncan sat on the couch nearest the door, the same one I had been sitting in when I got his call on New Years' Eve. The irony did not escape me.

"Uh, nah. I grabbed some breakfast before I came, so...I'm not thirsty, thanks," he bit out awkwardly, eyes darting about the room to take in details – looking everywhere but me.

Duncan, I realized, was not as efficiently detached as I. I felt a twinge of satisfaction, but also a prickle of unease. The Duncan I know is never stumbling or uncertain. He was always confident and so sure of his own actions that he would never even admit when he was wrong, even if it was obvious.

No matter how I composed myself here, he was going to make this awkward.

"Okay, just let me go get dressed." The words were out before I had even thought them. Of course! Why hadn't I thought of this before? If I had really been caught unawares, would I not want the time to get dressed?

Without waiting for his answer, I turned tail and took off down the hall at a fast clip.

* * *

My bedroom felt warmer than usual. Or was it just me?

I stood against the door for a few moments, thinking of nothing in particular, just staring at the clothes strewn across my floor and tumbling from the open drawers of my turned-over wardrobe.

You thought I was kidding. No, I had actually pushed it over. My temper was that bad.

But how the hell was I supposed to handle this now? I could barely even look at him.

This was a mistake. Duncan was a mistake. He had always been a mistake.

But it was too late now.

And by the time I realized that I had been standing there far too long, I still had no answers.

* * *

I returned to the living room in a carefully formulated casual walk, body dressed in designer jeans and a cardigan and hair swept hastily in a ponytail.

Duncan was in that same spot – I don't think even the position of his hands had moved – and his pale eyes flicked up to mine when I entered.

A moment of lightning, and then it was gone. Just like us.

"So," I began, sitting regally on the couch beside him – but not too close. "How was your hangover?"

How much did that sentence weigh? Enough to break the ice.

Duncan huffed quickly in surprised laughter, the familiar sound tingling in my memory.

"Pretty radical. I'm surprised I remembered anything in the mornin'." He replied with a smile, those straight white teeth flashing hypnotically at me, mockingly reminding me of the times my lips would brush against them while...

_Whack!_

That was me giving myself a mental slap in the face. Reminiscing about a guy you used to date while he's sitting right in front of you is not a good idea.

He was looking at me, a question in his eyes. And suddenly I realized; I'd seen that look before, too. And I'd never even bothered to learn to read him. Maybe it was me who had been the bad girlfriend.

That thought had circled with thousands of others after our breakup, but never before had I considered it a strong possibility.

The striking look faded, and he grinned hesitantly. "Good thing I did, huh?"

A hope. A lingering hope in his voice that pierced at my insides with its pure, honest emotion. Never before had he laid himself so bare, for me to see. He was waiting for me, walls down, eyes shining through the fog to form a clear path for me to follow.

"And why exactly did you want to come here, Duncan? What did you think you could accomplish?"

The clipped, almost rude, words tumbled out before I thought them.

He looked surprised for a moment, looked away, looked back, opened his mouth, closed it, looked away again for a long time, and looked back again.

"I don't know."

I raised a delicate eyebrow, crossing my arms across my chest. "You don't know? Really?" I asked him dryly.

He shrugged, right hand moving to rub the back of his neck again. "I was hoping you would tell me. You're the one who said I should see you in person," he mumbled.

It was my turn to bob my jaw like a fish. I had said that, hadn't I? I could tell him his alcoholic memory was faulty, but I doubt he would believe it.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to think of something suave to shoot back. I didn't come up with anything, so my mouth shot off by itself again.

"Well, why don't you tell me what _you_ want, Duncan?" I snapped sharply. He looked startled; I, too, wondered where that came from. "You never tell me what you want! It's like you just expect me to read your mind!" Hey, that was true. I should shoot my mouth off more often. "What do you want from me, huh? Do you want me back? Do you want to be friends? Do you want closure, catching up, a coffee date, what? Tell me what you want, Duncan!"

He looked a little blown away, eyes darting around my face as if searching for the right answer. I knew there wasn't one. I didn't know what I wanted his answer to be; only that he better not want to be friends. We'd tried that before.

Duncan shifted to face forward on the couch, his face shifting from shock to confusion in a heartbeat. He rocked forward, leaning his elbows on his knees as he seemingly mulled over what he was supposed to say.

The old-fashioned grandfather clock in the kitchen groaned out a few tolls, adding to the pressure of the situation. I jumped slightly, but Duncan didn't move. He didn't move for a long time. It was when I began to seriously consider checking his pulse that he sighed, eyes closing momentarily before fixing on the far wall.

"I want you back, Court."

My breath caught, and I'm sure he heard. But he wasn't smiling or making a move or even looking into my eyes. In fact, he looked downright...hateful.

Duncan ducked his head down to run his fingers through that soft-looking jet black hair. He sounded defeated, repentant, and a little angry. "But I know you're not gonna take me back. You've got too much damn pride. You can't even think of any way you could ever be wrong about anything! Even if you wanted me, you'd be too proud to admit it, no matter how far I put myself out there."

I didn't say anything. What could I say? I couldn't say he was right, even though he was. I couldn't say he was wrong, because he wasn't. I couldn't even counter with a declaration of my own, because words had failed me at last.

"What, now you've got nothin' to say?" he snapped, anger winning out in his emotional tumble, as it usually did. "Did I hit a bullseye, huh?"

I shifted, letting a free lock of hair cover my eyes. I couldn't look at him, and I couldn't speak. It was more than a physical manifestation.

I'd never been paralyzed before, but I imagine this was what it felt like. Utterly useless, pinned by nothing more than an angry pair of eyes I couldn't see.

_Statuesque; frozen; stationary; immobile._

"Hey, look at me," he demanded.

_No._

"Look at me!"

_I can't!_

"Look at me, Princess!"

At the same moment that his hand tugged at my upper arm, swinging me around to face him, the words registered, finding us both surprised.

_Princess._

Our eyes met, locked, and held. He was closer than I thought he was. My mind went foggy.

"I mean..." he breathed, trying in vain to cover his mistake. But his voice ebbed away, warm emotions swimming like fish through his cyan eyes. His hard edges seemed to melt away, leaving him soft and vulnerable; I could see straight through his tough skin. I could see exactly what he was thinking now.

But how to put it into words I couldn't even begin to conjure.

Suddenly the hand around my arm loosened, sliding up my shoulder to my neck. The feel of his cool fingers sent a rush across my skin, and I shivered. This should not be happening.

So why was I leaning into his touch? Why did my own hand reach out to cover his? Why was I leaning forward? Why was he?

Those round blue eyes were coming closer, filling my vision and glazing over with desire.

"Princess..." Duncan whispered again, the husky timbre of his voice shuddering through my body. His heat was closing in, the colors of the room melting to grey as his other hand slipped along the sliver of skin showing at my waist.

The need traveled through my lips, down toward my chest and spread out through my limbs, sparking at my fingertips where they met his chest. Everything was hazy, uncertain, tinged with a reddish-pink and dots of blue.

I could feel my eyes begin to flutter closed, my lips part to greet his, the logical part of my brain shutting down as I let emotion take over.

Because suddenly I was no longer Courtney Alvaro, twenty-one years old, law student and legal resident of Gatineau, Ontario. I was sixteen, ambitious, and standing on the porch of the Gopher cabin, feeling a delinquent press against by back.

But, instead of pulling him toward me and crashing our lips together in a flash of sugar and hormones, I quickly and hurriedly turned my head.

The kiss, stolen from its moment in time, fell through the air, never existing for me to regret.

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**AN:** Ta-da! I've decided it will be a three-shot, since this one was getting pretty long. The conclusion will be up (fairly, possibly, maybe) soon, so hang on to that cliff!

Read and Review, please!


	3. Too Much

**AN: **And now, the final installment of Written in Red! This is up way earlier than I thought it would be, all thanks to some very nice reviews that really got me moving (until 3am)! Special thanks to **whateva876, RomanticTimeTraveler, Luna Mrow,** and everyone else who has sent me their reviews!  
How will Duncan react to Courtney's rejection? What was Courtney thinking? What will happen next? All will be revealed, after this disclaimer!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own TDI, TDA, or TDWT. I do, however, own Courtney's last name, Alvaro. It means 'extremely cautious'. :D

**Written in Red**

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What happened?

I felt Duncan's lips pass through my hair, my own stinging eyes focused unseeing on the far wall.

He stiffened beside me, realizing the miss, and my heart jumped in panic.

What happened?

The atmosphere hung, awkward and heavy, over the both of us, and I felt the cushions shift as Duncan leaned away again. I couldn't see his face.

And I found that I had nothing to say; no tangible reason why I pushed him away again, like I had dozens of times before.

The Courtney I showed the world would take a stand and scoff at his attempts to woo her. She'd demand a little redemption and figurative ass-kissing before he dare try to make a move.

The Duncan he shows me would flash that roguish, charming grin that made my knees weak. He'd take my hand and kiss me anyway, ignoring any protests that I managed to utter before he stopped all communication.

He would meet me halfway, walking the road my pride is too scared to venture. He would understand. He loves me. Or he did.

So why can't I say it? Because I know it's a lie? Or because I knew the Courtney I showed the world wasn't the Courtney I knew myself to be?

The real Courtney is unsure, insecure, and so afraid of people that she has to come in first every time to prove she's brave. The real Courtney is a neurotic, cowardly, confused, over-emotional train wreck from Northern Manitoba. And I have a feeling that Duncan knows that. So what's wrong? What holds me back now?

"I should go."

His voice jolted me from my trance, and I spun to face him without thought.

But he was already standing, his back to me, and heading out the door. I made no move to stop him as he left; I didn't even try to brace myself as a gust of winter air swept toward me before the door crashed against the jam and all feeling was extinguished.

There should have been silence, but nothing is silent anymore. I could hear the hum of the heater, the thunking of the icemaker, and the timekeeping of the old grandfather clock in the hall.

_Tick, tock._

That was my life going by and leaving me behind again.

Why was I like this?

Sometimes, I wished I could be one of those vapid, flighty girls who went through three boyfriends in a month; never too attached, never getting hurt, and always so sure of their own ability.

Ignorance is bliss, as they say, but I can't ever let myself be.

And I hate it.

I have a secret. Duncan was the first guy I ever kissed. The things about relationships I pretended to know were only vague ideas I picked up from romance books, jabbering acquaintances and half-hearted observations. I had no idea how much courage it took just to send him a smile or take his hand. It was so much easier to glare and call him names and let him chase after me, to the point that he was ready to give up, until I could feel confident enough in myself and in him to grab him and let him know I wanted him too.

Kissing him that day, years ago, was the most spontaneous, stupid, daring thing I'd ever done. If I hadn't read him correctly, and he really was just fooling around with me; if he'd rejected me after that...I don't know what I would've done. It would have been mortifying, and not just because it was going to be broadcasted on television to half a dozen countries around the world.

_Do you regret it?_

That stupid little voice. Everyone has it. That voice that always reminds you of the last thing you want to think about at the worst possible time. But the harder you try not to think about it, the more it keeps coming back.

Did I regret it? What would have happened if I'd never kissed Duncan? Where would I be now? Would we have never been together? How would the rest of the Total Drama seasons have gone? Everything that has shaped me and my life so far could be riding on the certainty of one moment. On Duncan.

Duncan. Duncan, Duncan, Duncan.

Where did everything go wrong? At what point did our arguments become fiercer, longer, more serious and less for fun? When did he stop calling me 'Princess' and kissing my nose before he kissed my lips? When did he decide he didn't want that anymore? When did he decide he was wrong?

And what about me? How blinded must I have been not to read the signs? Shouldn't I have noticed something? Seen something? Felt something? Or was I so caught up in myself and what I wanted to do that I didn't even pretend to care?

It was my fault; as much mine as his. Too detached, and I hurt him. Too close, and I scared him away. Was there nothing I could do? Was there no way we could ever be together without tearing eachother apart?

Something wet trickled down my cheek. There was heat in my eyes, and a familiar tightness in my throat that could only mean one thing.

I tried to take a deep breath, hoping it would stop, but it came in shuddering like a sob.

No, I couldn't be crying. I was stronger than this. I didn't need him. I didn't need anyone. I was happy before, wasn't I? It was only after that phone call that...wasn't I? Wasn't I happy?

The tears were coming faster now; my breath coming in gasps as I tried to hold myself together.

Of course I was happy. I'm fine without him, and I know from experience that being with him is nothing but heartbreak.

I wiped the tears away angrily. He was gone, and that was that. I'll move on again. I'm Courtney Alvaro, and I will get through this. I'm strong and independent and damn well able to take care of myself.

"_Yeah, but that's what I like about'cha, Princess. You can kick my ass if you want to, but you let me live outta the goodness of your heart."_

I remember when he said that. We were by the pool at Playa Del Losers, where he'd kissed me sweetly on the temple and laughed. It was a happy, open laugh; the kind that bubbled up from some sunny place deep inside. I laughed like that, too. He made me laugh like that.

I did like that. I liked a lot of things.

I liked the way he scowled and blushed when I caught him doing something nice, and when he didn't even try to hide the fact that he was staring at me, and the funny way his hair stuck up when it was wet. I liked the way his face would light up when he caught my eye, and the things he told me that no one else knew, and how he would hug me from behind and nuzzle into my neck when we were done fighting. I always scowled and pulled away...why did I do that?

I broke into another sob, and buried my face in my hands.

Why was I so afraid of letting him know I cared? Why couldn't I just say how I felt about things, about...him?

And then I realized. I **did** care about him. A lot. I cared, and that was okay. So why was I letting him go? Why was I sitting here in tears while he got away from me again?

A new passion ignited in my chest, and I stood from the couch and all but ran to the front door.

Maybe it wasn't too late; maybe he hadn't driven away yet, and I could still catch him...

I threw the door open and leaned out with both hands braced on the frame, damning the frigid air that immediately began to bite at my bare skin.

Through the gently falling snow, I scanned the yard frantically, searching for his black hair, his rough coat, anything that would let me know that Duncan hadn't given up on me yet.

The shoveled walk was empty, save for a single dead leaf. Dead, like us. I was too late.

He was gone.

"What?"

My heart jumped madly in my chest, and I swung my head to the right, toward the voice. Was it...?

At the edge of my tiny porch, Duncan sat on the right-side stairs, falling snow already collecting in his hair and on his shoulders. He looked exactly as he did when he first showed up at my door; snowy, pink, and looking completely out of his element.

He met my eyes for a moment, and then looked away with a sigh. "Fine, I'll leave already."

_He's still here._

"I was just...waiting for my car to warm up." He stood up, a hard look on his face.

_He didn't leave._

"But if you're that gung-ho about it, I'll just let myself freeze to dea-"

I caught him mid-sentence. Literally. He wanted to know how I felt? Fine.

I ran forward, threw my arms around his neck, and mashed my lips forcefully against his.

Caught up in the feeling, I didn't know we were falling until we hit the ground.

His back took the brunt of the force, and I fell on top of him in a very cliché position, our lips bumping apart uncomfortably.

Snow rippled around us, and Duncan let out a grunt of pain. I pulled back to look into his eyes.

I was breathing hard, and was sure that my face was red and tear-streaked, but he gazed at me as if I'd just sprouted wings.

White clumps were stuck in his spiky hair, his ice-pale eyes more striking than ever as they bored into mine; questioning, yearning, and a little awestruck.

"Sorry..." I breathed, freeing my arms from beneath his head. I tried to sit up, but one of his hands rested on my lower back, maybe to keep me from running away.

"Um," I began awkwardly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm...I mean...It's a little..."

He leaned up, lips gently pressing on the tip of my nose. "We'll work it out," he murmured softly, his breath warming my lips. "Just go with the flow, Princess."

He smiled, shaming the brightness of the snow around him, and I was suddenly glad for everything. I was glad for every fight, every shed tear, and every breakup, because it all led us to this moment.

And this moment was perfect. There wasn't a doubt in my mind whether or not to smile back at him, or if it was okay to pull his face to mine. It was right, and I felt it.

His lips were cold, but I didn't care. I love him, I really do. And someday I'm going to tell him.

It didn't matter what was holding me back before. I won't let it catch me. I'll keep running and running for as long as it takes, because I know that Duncan will be right there beside me, racing me to the finish line, ready to catch me if I fall. I guess he'd always been there, and it just took me this long to see it.

And as I sat with Duncan in the snow, feeling more at ease and happy than I had in months, there was only one thing I could think to worry about.

_The neighbors are definitely going to talk._

* * *

**AN: **So Courtney's problems aren't over. Nothing's perfect. Thanks so much for all your reviews! I try to reply to all of them; though I'm sure I missed a few. If it was yours, I'm sorry. I appreciate every single one; even the most simple and generic make me feel all fuzzy inside. ^_^ Thanks for reading, and special thanks to those who stuck around since the previously singular chapter one! Ashe, out.


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